Instincts Pt. 1
by Dala1
Summary: (movieverse; L/R) When an abandoned mutant child makes her way to the mansion, she attaches herself to a most unlikely candidate.
1. Instincts

Disclaimer: Everyone belongs to Marvel, except for Thorn.  
This takes place several years after the movie, and is not on the same storyline as my other fics. It also incorporates a few strictly comicverse characters, namely Beast and Gambit, and I hope I didn't get them too wrong.  
Dedicated to my cousins Mary Paige and Lauren, on whom Thorn's personality (if not her mutation ;) are based.  
  
  
  
"Logan?"  
  
He looked up, about to shoot the six ball into the corner pocket. Stretched halfway over the pool table, a cigar dangling from his lips, glaring at the intruder . . . he was quite intimidating.  
  
But Jean was Jean, and she paid no attention to his irritated reaction. "We need you to help us track something outside."  
  
Now he was interested. "Something?"  
  
"A mutant; Professor Xavier sensed it," she explained. "You're the best member of the team when it comes to tracking, and you know the woods around the mansion."  
  
He stretched, reluctantly placing the cue back on its rack. "Don't we have some sort of fancy tracking equipment that . . . well, that ain't me?"  
  
"Yes, and we know the stranger's location, but since it's hiding, it must not want to be found. And it's moved twice in the last half-hour."  
  
Logan sighed and stubbed out his cigar. "This thing better not be dangerous. How the hell did it get inside the grounds?"  
  
Jean shrugged, tugging on a lock of bright hair. "I don't know. But it's probably frightened, hiding out there in the woods.  
  
"If it's scared, it'll be even more dangerous," he grumbled, but grabbed his jacket and followed her out of the rec room.  
  
  
  
"She's here."   
  
Scott stopped and looked over at Logan. The other man stood very still, only his eyes moving as they scanned the clearing. He appeared to be sniffing the air, though Scott couldn't smell anything except dead leaves in the early autumn air. He wondered at Logan's use of the feminine pronoun, but didn't raise a question.  
  
"Where?" was all he said.  
  
Logan shook his head slowly, puzzled. "I don't know. I can smell someone nearby, but-"  
  
His words were cut off as he fell through the ground.   
  
"Logan!" Scott shouted, and froze. He couldn't see any irregularities in the forest floor; the leaves and plants were undisturbed.  
  
For his part, Logan was just as surprised. He found himself dazed and dusty but otherwise unharmed, in a tiny underground cavern. There was barely enough room to turn his head, but he knew that the person he was tracking was with him.  
  
Peering across the dark tunnel, he saw a small child. How had she gotten down here?  
  
"Hey kid," he said, coughing. "It's okay now." He extended a hand toward the quailing child.  
  
She gazed back at him, apparently forming an opinion and taking her time about it. He waited patiently, ignoring Scott's calls.  
  
Finally the child decided that Logan was worthy of her trust, and scrambled into his arms. She was remarkably light; her bones felt as weightless as any bird's. He stood up, his head poking back out of the hole, which was only five or so feet deep. The child settled herself against his shoulder, and he could feel her little heart beating furiously.  
  
"Don't come any closer," he said to Scott, "this area's all dug out." Logan put the child on the ground and let Scott pull him out, much as he considered it an indignity. The second she was released, the girl scampered away, and he caught her by the arm. "Hey!"  
  
She turned and sank her small, sharp teeth into his hand. Logan cried out and let go, stumbling back. Drawing his hand close to his face to examine the wound, he kept moving backwards and tripped over a fallen branch, landed headfirst in a pile of thorny bushes.  
  
Meanwhile, Scott was running after the child. He braced himself and scooped her up, but she didn't attack him as she had Logan. She swung quite unresisting from his arms.  
  
He turned to regard his companion, and stifled laughter. Logan growled from his seat on the log, and continued picking thorns out of his face and neck.  
  
"That kid is more trouble than she's worth."  
  
Scott couldn't resist the opportunity for a lame joke. "Yeah, she certainly has a thorny personality," he chortled.  
  
If looks could kill--or at least, looks other than Scott's own--he wouldn't have had a prayer. But as it was, Logan decided unhappily that cheesy humor wasn't enough of an excuse to skewer his teammate; Jean would be upset with him.  
  
They set off for the mansion's medical ward, Scott carrying the girl. Logan got a good look at her for the first time. She seemed to be about four or five, with skin almost the exact color of the earth they walked on. He also noticed green and bronze shimmers that glittered on her body, and wondered idly if she glowed in the dark. Her hair was long and tangled, moss-colored.  
  
She looked up at him then, with the biggest eyes he had ever seen. They were huge in her small face, and mostly brown with streaks of gold and green.  
  
An odd child. He just hoped that she had somewhere relatively normal to be sent back to.  
  
  
  
The X-Men, minus Logan, stared down at the sleeping child.  
  
"She had substantial amounts of soil under her fingernails," Beast said. "I would imagine that she was digging."  
  
Scott nodded. "She was in a sort of tunnel system. I thought it had belonged to some animal, but you're saying she did it herself?"  
  
"Yes. Her mutation appears to be tied to the earth itself; it is difficult to explain. Scott, when you picked her up, she stopped struggling?"  
  
"That's right, she didn't try anything on me."  
  
The immense blue doctor adjusted his spectacles. "And when Logan tried to catch her, her feet were still on the ground."  
  
"I see," Charles Xavier interrupted. "She loses strength when she is out of contact with the earth."   
  
"Damned convenient power to have." No one had noticed Logan enter, but he was among them now, dressed in clean clothes after his encounter with the thorn bush.  
  
Beast nodded. "That is my assumption, Professor. And since she dug the tunnels Logan fell into, it makes sense that she dug a tunnel underground to come here."  
  
"I wonder how she knew to come here," Rogue mused aloud. "Hopefully she'll tell us when she wakes up."  
  
The doctor looked saddened. "I'm afraid she can't. The child is mute."   
  
"Could we probe her mind, Professor?" Jean asked.  
  
He frowned. "I don't know. I don't have much experience with mutants so young; I'm not sure if I would harm her."  
  
Rogue gazed at the little girl with sympathy. She was sleeping peacefully, but every now and then would purse her lips in a cross expression, as if telling the rest of them to go away. Poor little thing. If she had made her way here alone, she must not have people in the world who loved her and looked after her.   
  
She opened her eyes suddenly, and they darted around fearfully at the strange-looking people. Xavier said quietly, "Please, let's give the child some room." Everyone backed off, letting him wheel up to her bedside.   
  
*I'm not going to hurt you,* he said telepathically to the girl. Even so, he could feel her fear and confusion, and even a haughty little sense of rage. He kept up his mental reassurances until she relaxed, and then he opened himself to her mind.  
  
She was enjoying being underground; she could feel the earth in a comforting grip around her. But she was frightened by the mutants.  
  
*Who are you? Your name?*  
  
She didn't seem to get the concept of name at first, and he realized that she didn't have one. Putting aside his anger at the sort of people who would neglect to give a child a name, Xavier probed deeper. *Where do you come from?*  
  
Bad place. Fear, pain, badbadbadbad!  
  
He broke contact immediately, pressing his hands to his head. Jean rushed to his side, having followed the "conversation", though not immersed in it so deeply.  
  
"She is . . . incredibly strong-willed and minded, for one so young," the Professor managed to get out. "I will continue this later, but for now I think all she needs is some care, some food and some rest."  
  
"We'll take care of her," Storm said quickly.   
  
Xavier smiled. "I know you will, my X-Men. I'll leave her in your hands until tomorrow." He left the medical ward, and the team again turned to the mutant child.  
  
She had left her bed and was crouched against the wall, feeling the metal with curious fingers.   
  
Logan shook his head. Definitely a strange child. And he was beginning to tire of thinking of her as the child.  
  
"Does this kid have a name?"  
  
"No," Jean answered. "I guess . . . no one's ever given her one."  
  
"Well, we have to call her something," Jubilee reasoned.  
  
Scott crossed his arms. "What does she look like?" He began running through names in his head. "Sarah? Tiffany? Lisa? Or maybe Jean . . ." He grinned at his wife, and she shook her head in mock exasperation.  
  
Logan looked elsewhere, although the stab of pain he used to feel at such exchanges had mostly faded away. He and Jean were not meant to be, and he was content to leave it at that. He didn't really have anything against the team's leader, anyway.  
  
Gambit, though, was someone he had a problem with. Always hanging around Rogue, saying some stupid quaint French phrase. And she basked in the attention, which he wasn't going to begrudge her-she certainly deserved it, and more. But he knew without having to ask that the relationship would never progress further than flirtation, not only because of her mutation, but because of the fact that Rogue didn't seem to have a desire to try at a romance with Gambit. He had no idea why, but he was certain of it.  
  
Pulling his mind back to the present, Logan found the others still name-debating.   
  
"I think that since Logan found her, he should name her," Jean said. "And," she added, laughing, "because she seems to have a fondness for him."  
  
He looked down, and there was the child, clinging to his leg and gazing raptly up at him.  
  
Scott smirked. "You seem to have an admirer, Logan." Shooting him a glare, Logan gingerly took the child's arm and tried to pry her off. She snapped at his hand and held on tighter.  
  
"I think he should name her, too." He met Rogue's eyes, twinkling with mirth, and vowed to have a very long talk with her about what it was appropriate for a man to endure. A kid hanging onto his jeans and everyone finding him funny was not on that list.  
  
"Fine," he barked. "I'll name her. Uh . . . have any more ideas?"  
  
"How 'bout Thorn? For de bush and all." Damned Cajun. The man was grinning in that devilish way which made the girls at the school flutter their eyelashes when he walked down the halls.  
  
Logan sighed. The sooner he could be out of the spotlight of ridicule, the better. "That okay with you, kid? Thorn?" He directed his question down to the hanger-on, and she blinked. Those watching didn't know how, but Logan read something in those enormous eyes and nodded. "Okay. Now let go."  
  
But the newly-christened Thorn refused to release her grip, and he refused to pick her up, so the X-Men were treated to the rather amusing sight of Logan dragging the Thorn-leg behind him, pretending not to hear the giggles.   
  
"You are going to be bad for my reputation," he accused Thorn when they were out of sight around the corner.   
  
She tossed her head as if to say she didn't care, and put on her most insistent pleading stare yet.  
  
Grumbling under his breath, Logan picked her up.  
  
  
  
For the rest of the day, he wandered around the grounds with his new charge. He showed her the gardens, the stables, the lake: it seemed that all she wanted to do was be outside, and she gathered energy from the walk rather than lost it. Not once did she ask to be picked up. Mostly she pointed to things and he told her what they were, if he knew, and if he didn't he would make up some insane long name for a bird or a flower. Thorn always knew the difference, and would pat the object as if apologizing for her large friend's rudeness. Her way with nature and her tiny size led him to call her Faery or Pixie more often than Thorn.  
  
He would have been surprised at how easily he fit into the mentor role, if he'd noticed. It did occur to him that Thorn's company could be better than any adult's; she was an honest, forthright little thing, without a malevolent bone in her body (having advanced healing ability made it easy to forget her attack on him earlier). And sometimes when she smiled, he thought of Rogue. She must have been like this once, innocent and carefree. When she was Marie. He had never called her by her real name, but it was often on the tip of his tongue. Something had kept him from saying it for all the time he had known her.  
  
Thorn was still a very small child, if active, and she was ready to go back to the mansion before twilight. Even then she didn't want to be carried, though he could tell she was tired. She trotted the whole way back to the mansion, barefoot, taking three strides to his one.  
  
Sprawled out on the couch, Logan yawned. Thorn seemed to have no ill effects from her long day of exploring, but he was exhausted, and paid very little attention to what was on the TV screen. Actually, this was the last place he wanted to be: he would never actually sit by choice and watch the Cajun make sad eyes at his ladylove. Rogue seemed to be dropping off to sleep, anyway. But Thorn was mesmerized by the television, having never seen one before, and he didn't have the heart to tell her it was long past bedtime.  
  
Remy was not too happy with his present company, either. He knew he had no chance with Rouge; he only kept up his pursuit for appearance's sake. And he knew the reason why she wouldn't be happy with him, and this reason was sitting to his left. Rogue was in love with Logan, had been since before he'd met her, even if it was buried beneath layers of protection and self-reliance. The damned fool wasn't even aware of it, and in that Remy thought him a moron; if Logan ever stretched out his hand, she would take it without a second thought. The mansion's entire population seemed to know this except for Logan; too bad for him, in Remy's opinion.  
  
"Hey," he interrupted his own musings. "What's wrong wit de petite?"   
  
Logan started out of a doze. Thorn was making a strange sound in the back of her throat, a sort of mewl. She was pressed up against the screen, her fingers splayed out in distress as she tried to touch the image inside. He hit the pause button, and kneeling beside her, saw what was wrong.  
  
It was an image of bulldozers crushing trees, spoiling the rich soil and habitats. Thorn turned to him, her thin cheeks wet with tears, and tugged on his sleeve.  
  
"I can't make them stop, Pixie." Logan's voice was uncharacteristically gentle.  
  
Her lip quivered, and he said, "Yeah, it's awful for me to watch too."  
  
Rogue watched, astonished, as he carried on a one-sided conversation. Logan seemed to be able to read Thorn's body language, or her eyes, or something about her, as accurately as though she spoke out loud. It was an extraordinary thing to see, as was the tenderness in his face.  
  
*He loves this child,* she realized. She hadn't known he was capable of feeling so deeply, of lifting Thorn in his arms and comforting her as she cried tears of pity and sadness for her friends the trees.  
  
Remy's eyes were on Rogue, and if she had turned to look at him, she would have seen sadness in him as well, though of a different sort. He accepted the fact that she wasn't in love with him, but he wasn't about to sit around and watch her sigh over the ever-oblivious Logan.   
  
"Bonne nuit, chere," he said, touching her shoulder. Rogue looked up at him and smiled.   
  
"'Night, Remy." Then he left, to spend an autumn night pondering just what sort of lunatic pursues a woman he can't even touch.  
  
Logan and Thorn had reached an ultimatum: the show with the tree-killers had been turned off, and something with blue animated canines had been substituted. Just the thought of Logan watching anything with a big blue dog was enough to make her shake her head at the mysteries of life.  
  
She had dozed off again when she had the uncanny sensation of being watched. Sure enough, she opened her eyes to see a small dark face staring into her own.  
  
"Hi, Thorn," she said sleepily. The child crawled into her lap, and Logan saw the way Rogue tensed at the unexpected contact. She fears touch as much as someone who's been abused, he thought sadly.   
  
Luckily, it wasn't in Thorn's agenda to give Rogue a friendly, dangerous kiss. She pulled something from the pocket of her dress and offered it to Rogue, whose eyes widened. "No," she said, trying to give it back, "these aren't mine." But Thorn was adamant that she take the gift, and Rogue stood up to give it back to its owner herself.  
  
"Here," she said, holding out a hand to Logan. His dogtags dangled from her fingers.   
  
He gave Thorn a disapproving look, but she was hiding behind Rogue's legs. "Dirty little thief." He made no move to take the tags, and Rogue was puzzled.  
  
"They're . . . they're yours," she said, looking down at her feet.  
  
"I never asked for them back," he said quietly. The day he had returned, Rogue had been away on a mission. When she got home a few days later, he had found the tags on his pillow without having even seen her, along with a note that said "Welcome back." She had changed, he realized, and so he took the tags and kept them in his drawer ever since. He had no idea how Thorn had gotten her grubby little hands on them.  
  
She sat down on the couch beside him, uncomfortably close. "Logan." Her voice was as steady as she could make it. "We never talked about these, or about what you found in Canada."  
  
"I didn't find anything," he said sharply. "I told you that."  
  
"Then why did you stay away for nearly a year?" Whispering now, Rogue couldn't quite keep a thread of pain out of her voice.  
  
Thorn, quiet and therefore forgotten by the adults for the time being, stood at the side of the couch and watched this exchange with interest.  
  
"I . . ." He had no answer for her. At least, not one he was preparing to share. *Because I was afraid of what I felt.*  
  
*What you still feel,* a voice seemed to say, a child's voice. He looked at Thorn, but of course she was silent.  
  
Thoroughly unnerved, Logan stood abruptly and folded her gloved hand over the tags. The fact that she didn't shy away from his touch was not lost on him. "Please keep them, Marie."  
  
Her shock at hearing that name from his lips was evident in her face and voice both. "You . . . no one's called me that in a long time."  
  
He looked up, and his eyes were hooded, shadowed. Impossible to read. "I know." And he turned and walked away, Thorn running after him.  
  
"Logan!" she called softly, desperately. *Why can't I talk to him? Why won't he let me in?*  
  
He didn't answer, barely pausing to gather the trailing Thorn into his arms. She peeked over his shoulder as he carried her away, and gazed at Rogue with a mournful expression on her face.  
  



	2. Instincts (Part Two)

Disclaimer: if you can't tell the difference between Marvel's property and mine, you're a pretty sorry fan :)  
See the author's note for the first part.  
Thanks be to Megan, who gave me the idea that shattered my writer's block. Bless de Megans of de world :)  
  
  
  
"I am sorry, my dear."  
  
"Don't do this!"  
  
And then his hands were on her face, and she felt the rush of his personality flooding through her. Screaming, she fought through a tide of memories that weren't her own, struggled to maintain a sense of self among the onslaught of Magneto's mind and power.  
  
Then her unwilling hands were clamped on the metal, and the rings began to spin around her, and it hurt . . . Logan was somewhere below her, why didn't he come, why didn't he make it go away, oh please I don't want this make it stop!  
  
Restless and unable to sleep, Logan left Thorn in his room and started downstairs to get something to eat. But he was halted by a groan, the sound of Rogue in pain, and he bolted to her door.  
  
Tangled up in her sheets, she was tossing frantically and whimpering. He went to her side and shook her arm. "Wake up, sweetheart, it's just a dream. Wake up!"  
  
With a soft cry, she opened her eyes, wide and panicked. Seeing Logan standing above her when she had just been dreaming about him was strange, and she shrank away from him, huddling against the wall.   
  
"It's okay," he whispered, sitting down on her bed. "It's alright."  
  
Still half-sobbing, Rogue nestled against him and pressed her head to his chest. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Logan murmured soft words and rocked her gently until he felt her heart rate slow.  
  
She looked up at him, her eyes wounded and dark. "Thank you."  
  
"Don't mention it," he replied, stroking her hair away from her sweaty face. Suddenly the moment changed from comforting to awkward, and he let go. Rogue reluctantly pulled away from him and sat cross-legged, rubbing at her eyes.  
  
Logan tugged on his shirt, soaked by her tears. "What were you dreaming about?"  
  
An expression of dead humor on her face, Rogue said dryly, "Guess."  
  
"Magneto again?"  
  
She nodded. "No matter how much time passes, and however many other dangerous situations I've been in, it always comes back to me. The fear, and the pain, and the---the violation. Like being raped." Rogue shuddered, and he wanted so badly to reach out and gather her close again that it was an ache in his chest.  
  
Visibly bracing herself, Rogue looked at him shyly. "Only, in this dream, it always ends differently."  
  
He stretched out on the bed, looking up at her nervous face. "How?"  
  
"When you rescue me, I wake up and . . . kiss you." Her face was burning, but she made herself continue. "For some reason I think I'm cured. But . . . I'm not, and so as I hang onto you, you . . . die in my arms." Rogue shook her head, banishing the images. "Fuck, Logan, I've never told anyone about that."  
  
"Not even Gambit?" She looked up sharply, surprised at the note of jealousy in his tone.   
  
"Why the hell would I tell Remy about a dream I had of you?"  
  
He shrugged, trying to be casual now and regretting his unthinking words. "You never tell *me* anything."  
  
"You're hardly ever around," she shot back. "Always off on that bike of yours."  
"I like to roam," he replied. I shouldn't have come in here. "I'm sorry, I'm keeping you awake. I'll go now."  
  
He got up to leave, but she sat up and said, "No!" Eyes blazing, Rogue gestured for him to sit back down. "You're going to stay, and maybe you'll be able to say things in the dark that you can't seem to say during the day!"  
  
He spread his hands, angry that she read his thoughts so accurately. "What do you want me to say?"  
  
Rogue sat back on her heels and sighed. "I don't know." Her voice was a whisper. "I just want you to talk. Please?"  
  
So he took his place beside her again, and talked first about how he felt when he'd found nothing at Alkali Lake, how it made him feel less of a person to not be able to remember his own last name. He talked about how he just couldn't face the Professor, and the X-Men, but he didn't say that he really didn't want to face her. He mentioned how he had been pained to watch Scott and Jean marry, and how the Cajun bothered him, and how the kids in his combat classes seemed to get more annoying each semester.  
  
He talked until the sun was beginning to shine through the blinds, and she didn't say a word. It was enough to merely listen. And when he was done, Logan didn't wait for her to say anything; he went back to his room and slept for a few hours until Thorn woke him with her clamoring for breakfast.  
  
  
  
The day started off sunny, and forecasts were good, but by mid-morning a thunderstorm was blowing over 1407 Graymalkin Lane.  
  
Storm's knock on the door came at the same time as a clap of thunder, so she had to do it again before Logan answered. "The Professor want to see the child."  
  
His mood was comparable to the weather outside. "Then he'll just have to come and get her. She's been huddled under the covers all morning . . ." He opened the door wider to show her, but Thorn was not there anymore.  
  
In that moment, lighting flashed and thunder boomed frightening close, shaking the mansion's frame, and the lights went out.  
  
Logan cursed, and Storm frowned. Normally she didn't like to interfere in a such a situation, but this was ridiculous. She went to Logan's window and began to dispel the tempest, while he searched frantically about the room for Thorn.  
  
It was when he was checking his shirt drawer for the third time that Logan heard a scream. Turning, he saw the flare of lighting out of the corner of his eye, and darted to the window in time to catch the unconscious Ororo Munroe.   
  
*Dammit. How the fuck did that happen? She's a weather goddess!*  
  
He shouted, "Cyke!" and deposited Storm on his bed. Scott came running in, Jean hot on his heels, and Logan pointed to the prone mutant.  
  
"She got struck by lightning--I don't know how," he said, as Scott's eyebrows raised in question.   
  
Jean worriedly ran her hands through her hair. "The Professor is on his way." The X-Men who were on this floor, hearing the noise, were filtering in as well.  
  
Logan looked down at Storm apologetically. "Thorn's missing," he explained. "I'm going to see if Xavier knows where she went."  
  
"Be careful," Beast warned. "I don't think it wise to go out in this storm."  
  
Barely hearing, Logan sprinted down the hall to intercept the Professor, missing Beast's Shakespeare quote.  
  
  
  
"She's outside," Xavier said the moment Logan careened around the corner and nearly fell over his chair.  
  
"Then that's where I'm goin'," he replied with hardly a glance. He passed Rogue on the staircase, and she gripped his arm.   
  
"What's happened?" she demanded, eyes wide.   
  
He shook her off, beaten on by a sense of impending doom. "Ask the others, I've got to find Thorn."  
  
Rogue watched him leap down the stairs three at a time, and whispered, "Be careful, Logan." She too was affected by the charged electricity that lent a touch of danger to the place.  
  
  
  
He didn't hear her screams, but somehow he knew to look up.  
  
Thorn was being carried off by a flying silver-colored mutant, just as unresponsive as she'd been when Scott picked her up from the ground. Thinking of what pain she must be in, so high up, Logan shouted desperately at the fast-departing pair. After seeing what had happened to Storm, he had a mortal fear of the lightning of this squall, but nothing happened to Thorn and her attacker. It was the only shred of relief he clung to as they floated out of sight.  
  
Uttering a howl, Logan turned and reversed the madcap run he'd taken from his own room.  
  
  
  
Everyone had reconvened in the lower levels, with Storm nearby in the medical ward. Beast and Jean were looking after her for the moment, the rest of the X-Men gathered somberly around Professor Xavier.  
  
Or at least, most of them were somber. Logan was burning like an inferno with rage, practically snarling, and Rogue stepped closer to his side in an effort to comfort him. He didn't seem to notice.  
  
"I can't use Cerebro while the power is out, and I can't restore it until this storm has abated," the Professor was explaining quietly.  
  
Logan's claws shot out with a snikt, and everyone but Rogue took a few steps away from him.  
  
"What?" he demanded. "You mean we're just gonna sit here and do nothing?" Alone among them, Rogue understood that the anger in his voice masked pain and fear.  
  
"Of course not," Xavier replied mildly. "I'm dispatching a team consisting of you, Rogue, Jean , and Cyclops immediately. You'll take a Blackbird and scan the area nearby; they can't have gone very far. Jean will use her telekinesis to try and locate Thorn."   
  
He had barely finished his sentence before Logan was stalking off to the docking bay. Taking flight to keep up effortlessly with his dogged pace, Rogue followed him, and Scott went to retrieve his wife from Storm's side.   
  
"We're on mission," he said when he reached the med lab. "Will she be alright?" Scott looked over her shoulder at his friend, concern etching his features.  
  
She smiled wearily. "Storm will recover in a few days, but we'll have to be very cautious in the weather out there--her getting struck by lightning means that this storm must have been engineered by another weather-mutant."  
  
He nodded tightly, and they set off toward the ship, already in uniform.  
  
  
  
Logan and Rogue were in the pilot and copilot seats for a change; she'd suggested it because she knew that he wouldn't be able to sit still. Having a job to do had calmed his nerves somewhat, but his eyes still smoldered, and she was frightened by the trace of madness within them.  
  
"It'll be fine," she said softly, laying her hand on his arm. "We'll find her, and she'll be okay."  
  
His only answer was a nervous swallow.  
  
Scott and Jean arrived and wordlessly strapped themselves in, not questioning the seating arrangements, and the great Blackbird rumbled in takeoff.  
  
  
  
Jean sat back against her chair, eyes closed in concentration. Scott didn't once take his eyes off of her as Logan flew the jet in concentric circles around the mansion. The storm ended very quickly, and soon the sun was shining like it had never happened.  
  
Finally, after about twenty silent moments, her eyes snapped open and she said, "Stop!"  
  
They were thrown forward in their seats as Logan did just that, letting a bit of laughter escape to break the tension. He brought the jet down just outside of a densely wooded area. "Nice landing," Scott remarked, as always. It was their ongoing joke, and Rogue and Jean merely rolled their eyes. Now that they at least knew where Thorn was, the atmosphere was breathable. Logan was visibly more buoyant, though still worried, and it was because of this that Jean didn't tell him the state Thorn's mind had been in. It would only make him angrier, and more reckless. She only hoped that they reached the girl in time.  
  
It took them a half hour or so of struggling through the forest to get to the small base inside, with Rogue flying overhead to check their position. They had been a team for quite some time, and all four relaxed in the companionable silence--this was their work, and they were good at it. Although Logan mentally apologized for every tree branch he cut to clear their path.  
  
When they were about two hundred yards from the location, Scott noticed that Jean was pale and her face drawn. He looked at her in alarm, but she shook her head. Indicating Logan, she said silently to Scott, *I don't want to upset him*  
  
*Is she hurt?* He thought as loud as he could, and knew she heard him.  
  
*Badly. Maybe . . . maybe dying. And there are others, Scott. These people--they're sacrificing children*  
  
She broke the mental contact quickly, fearing that Logan would pick up on Scott's sense of horror. But in full Wolverine-mode, he moved forward with a single-minded purpose, oblivious to everything but the child he sought.  
  
Rogue, on the other hand, noticed the silent conversation, and was worried. The forest was deathly quiet, as if the animals had fled.  
  
They reached the clearing, and crouched silently in some bushes on the edge of it. Logan looked beside him and was pleased to see the same type of thorns he'd fallen into . . . yesterday? Had it only been twenty-four hours? It seemed like Thorn had been a part of his life since its beginning.  
  
There were perhaps ten people walking around, with two obvious mutants. They moved as though with a single mind, Jean noticed, and shivered at the undercurrent of their thoughts. These people were slaves, and their focus was a shrine in the center of the clearing. Made of rock, it rose up fifteen feet, a grotesque face that was similar to a gargoyle's. A faint orange light emanated from a palm-sized stone in its open mouth.  
  
"She's up there," Jean whispered, pointed to a steel tower directly across from the idol. Her chill grew deeper as she saw that it was positioned at the north corner. On the south, in front of them, was what looked like the entrance to a cave. To the east, something that looked like an aboveground pool. And to the rock idol's west, another pool.  
  
The other three had also noticed this strange formation, and had no idea what it meant. Jean wasn't too sure, but she had some idea, and she wanted to retch from it.  
  
"Thorn first," Logan insisted, noticing her expression. She nodded miserably, knowing that they had time left, but only just.  
  
He flexed his muscles, ready to charge into the camp and start slicing. But Scott had put on his I'm-the-leader face, and Logan sighed. "So what's the deal, Cyke?" he asked reluctantly.  
  
"There's no reason for us to kill innocent people. We make an offer: surrender the children, and we'll go quietly."  
  
"Children?" Rogue asked. "There's others besides Thorn?"  
  
Almost in a trance, Jean murmured, "The four corners--the four elements. Thorn is earth, and the others must be wind, water, and fire."  
  
"I wonder what they want 'em for," Logan said. Again she considered telling him, and again she dismissed the idea. If she told the truth, he certainly would rush out there, and probably get them all killed in the process.  
  
Rogue took his hand. "Probably think they'll bring them good luck or something," she said cheerfully, and he smiled and squeezed her hand.  
  
*She knows,* Jean thought, *and Logan would know too if he weren't so blinded by his love for the child. Oh, I hope we get there in time!*  
  
Scott took a breath and stepped out into the clearing. He held up his hands to demonstrate his lack of weapons, and was surprised when the inhabitants of the little base took no notice of him.  
  
He started to speak, but Jean psychically tugged on his uniform, having a flash of insight.  
  
"They're like zombies," she said in a low voice. "They won't know that we aren't one of them, if we act the part, and we should be able to just walk among them."  
  
Having rejoined them, Scott said, "But what about that stone thing?"  
  
"Worry about that if it objects," Rogue said practically, "and not until."  
  
"Then we're all in agreement?" They nodded, and Scott felt a sense of pride in this portion of his team.   
  
So they stood up slowly and began imitating the strangers, forming a blank stare--easiest for Scott--and walking as though slightly drunk. Reaching a decision without having to speak about it, they fanned out among the crowd, not too far away, and set different paces so it wouldn't be noticed that they were all heading for the tower.  
  
It didn't make a difference; the slaves didn't even look at them.  
  
It almost, almost worked, right up to the minute when Scott set his foot on the tower's ladder. As he did so, a deep thrum began to pulse through the ground, like a seismic movement but fainter. As one, the human and mutant zombies turned to the X-Men and hissed, "Intruders!"  
  
Then they attacked.  
  
  
  
Logan fought beside his companions, always conscious of Thorn's tower at his back. The strange enemies were good enough in combat, and their hive mind at first seemed an advantage. But when Logan made the first kill, running his claws through a green-skinned mutant who breathed fire, the others were weakened. And so it was easier to take down another, and then another, and so on until there were only three sluggish ones left.   
  
Knowing that his help was no longer crucial, Logan began to climb the tower to Thorn.  
  
He had nearly reached the top when the last stragglers were dispersed, and Scott looked up at him. He started to follow, but Jean held him back and said, "No. Let him go alone."  
There were tears in her blue eyes. His mouth fell open, understanding, and he was silent.  
  
Rogue could have flown up to Logan in a fraction of the time it took to climb, but she too wanted him to have this moment alone. With a heavy heart, she turned and started over to one of the swimming pools. "Let's check the rest of this out."  
  
Jean didn't have the heart to say that it was too late for all of them.  
  
  
  
  
When he reached the top, it took Logan all of two seconds to get rid of the two zombie-people inside. One he shoved out the door, to slam into the ground below, and the other he merely cut open. Retracting his claws, he knelt beside Thorn, his eyes growing wide as they adjusted to the dim light.  
  
She was lying spread-eagled on a straw mat, her hands and feet tied down at each corner. It was soaked with blood, because there were clean, precise swipes each leg, arm, and one across her belly.  
  
Feeling numbness roar through him, Logan snapped the ropes that bound her and gently gathered her into his arms. She was still alive, but barely.  
  
"C'mon, Pixie," he whispered thickly, "you're gonna be alright."  
  
Breathing shallowly, Thorn smiled up at him. It doesn't hurt so much, she seemed to be saying, and he wept at her bravery.  
  
With surprisingly steady hands, Thorn grabbed his nose and pulled him down closer to her. Wearing an expression of intense concentration, she ran her hands slowly over his face, tracing every line and contour, running her small fingers over his eyelids when he closed them in grief. The sight seemed to have gone out of her eyes, and she twitched her fingers over his cheeks in one last gesture of memorization.  
  
*I want to be in the earth* He thought that if he opened his eyes, he'd be able to see her lips moving, forming the words that ate away at his heart. *Please send me back home . . .*  
  
He promised to, and then she died, her skin still wet with his tears.  
  
  
  
Jean could feel Logan's pain, gut-wrenching in its strength, but she had to push it away to concentrate on the task at hand.  
  
Digging through the sand, Rogue's fingers at last touched the hair of what had once been a young boy. "Water," she said dully. They were all beyond shock at this point. The first child, the fire element, had been drowned, tied at the bottom of the other pool. He had broken both his legs in death throes.  
  
The second, air, had been chained at the bottom of the cave. The entrance being shut up with rocks, she had died from lack of the very element that was her nature.  
  
And here was water, smothered by a mountain of sand in the second pool.  
  
Whatever method had been used to murder Thorn--earth--it had been done high up, away from her beloved soil, and that in itself was the cruelty.  
  
The damnable rock idol was still thrumming away, but it had done nothing to stop them; they had killed its followers. Work done, the three X-Men turned and regarded it.  
  
Jean sent a blast of psychic energy that broke it in two.   
  
Scott blasted each piece into smithereens, and shot a very strong beam at the orange stone.   
  
As soon as it grew dim, Rogue picked it up. She flew off a little distance and dropped  
it in the very center of a deep lake five miles away.  
  
Then, since Logan had not yet returned from the tower, they set about gathering wood to make a bonfire for the bodies of the air and fire children. Rogue very carefully took the body of the water child and set him on the surface of the lake.  
  
Night was falling, and the funeral pyre was burning low, when Logan appeared at the top of the tower. He looked down at Jean, and she nodded, lifted Thorn's body and very slowly brought it down to rest on the earth. He followed on the ladder, and without a word, the four mutants found shovels scattered around the camp and dug a grave. Logan let them share in this work, but he lowered her body into the ground, and he was the only one to cover it with the earth. Scott, Jean, and Rogue stood by and watched.  
  
When he finished it was fully dark, a new moon glowing in the sky. The stars were bright and thick above their heads, and each looked up for a few moments, regarding the sky with his or her own thoughts.  
  
Then he turned and vanished into the woods.  
  
  
  
The remaining three went back into the Blackbird and returned home, where they refused to answer any questions about what had happened, how was Thorn, where was Logan? Jean and Scott retired to their room and slept, curled tightly together to ward off memories resurfacing in dreams. Rogue had no such comfort, and so she lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling and pretending she was with Logan.  
  
  
  
He had been wandering amid the pitch-dark trees for several hours when he heard it.  
  
"Logan." It was Thorn's voice, the one she might have had as a different child, in a better world. He saw a double image of her in front of him, both the Thorn he had known and the woman she might have become, if given the chance. He felt a swell of pride rise within him, knowing that if they were different people, this child would have been his, would have grown into the beautiful, strong, compassionate woman who was smiling at him.  
  
"Logan," she said again, and her voice was low and rich. "Thank you, for everything you did for me."  
  
He sank to his knees before the apparition, the his-Thorn and the not-yet-Thorn. "It wasn't enough!" he cried in despair.  
  
"You are wrong; it was enough. And I am proud of what I've done for you, as well, because now perhaps you can live your life in happiness with the one you love."  
  
A part of him knew what she was saying, but it was a stubborn part. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You loved me, and in doing so, you made yourself realize that you love Rogue, in a different way."  
  
"But I lost you!"  
  
The ghost-Thorn smiled sweetly. "You didn't lose me, Logan. I am a part of you, because I touched your life and you touched mine. That can never be altered. My death was merely a passing, a part of my life; it came sooner than most, but that was my fate."  
  
"I don't believe in fate."  
  
"You say that, but you do not mean it."  
  
He felt the truth of her words in his bones, but was not quite ready to accept them. "What if I lose her, like I've lost you?"  
  
"Would you rather have never known me, than to have known me for only a day? Are the memories you carry worth the pain of loss?"  
  
Logan knew they were, and of course so did she, so he didn't bother to answer. Instead he said desperately, "I don't know how . . ."  
  
"You will," she said. "You have your instincts to guide you, and you should trust them." The two images began to flicker, like a candle on its last dregs of light.  
  
"No!" he cried. "Don't go!" He stretched out his hands to her, the child he had nurtured and loved, the daughter who should have been his.  
  
She laughed, and he heard it as though he had heard it thousands of times, reaching deep within his soul. "I will never leave you. I'm always a part of you. Just a part that you can't see."  
  
And he felt comforted, because it was true: he could feel the parts of himself that she had softened, that she had changed for the better. He stood, and smiled back at her, lifting a hand in farewell as her image gently faded into a swirl of mist in the night air.  
  
  
  
Rogue walked along the path behind the mansion, through the woods, to her lake. Logan hadn't yet returned, and beneath the dull ache that had festered in her since yesterday, the pain was beginning to sharpen.  
  
When she got to the lake, her favorite spot to sit and watch the world carry on its business, she dropped into a pile of limbs by the shore. Her left leg had just fallen asleep when she heard a soft "Hey."  
  
She knew that voice, and she stood up slowly, turning to face him. His clothes were definitely the worse for wear, but his face held an air of peace that she envied.   
  
He reached out to touch a bruise on her cheek, his fingers just barely brushing the skin, so he wasn't harmed.  
  
"It'll heal," Rogue said softly. She pressed her right hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat under her fingers. "And in time, so will you."  
  
His only answer was a broken sob, and as all his defenses folded in, he wept. Rogue sat down on the back and drew him against her, cradled him against her breast and rested her cheek against the top of his head.  
  
When it was over, he raised his head and looked into her eyes. Rogue, feeling unable and unwilling to look away, sat beside him and stared back. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap, though she longed to reach out and run her thumb over the curve of his cheekbone, the lines of his jaw. Here was everything she had ever asked for in life, and his expression was unreadable.  
  
All of Logan's past experiences, with women, with life, and with pain told him to stand up and walk away. It was the sensible, logical thing to do; it would be kinder to break hearts now, his and hers both, than to suffer the pain of losing one another later.  
  
This is what he would have done a month ago, a year ago, ten years ago. But he had known Thorn since then, and so he listened to his instincts instead.  
  
They told him to take Rogue's face in his trembling hands, protected by the curtain of her hair. They told him to smile into her searching, fearful, dear eyes--so very dear, they made him realize. They told him to pay attention to the feelings that glowed through his veins when she tentatively covered his hands with her own. They told him to memorize the sound of her voice as she whispered his name. It was none of his experience, and every last instinct in his brain and bones and heart, that led him to say, "I love you."  
  
She bit her lip, hesitant, and Logan felt his heart constrict. "This won't be easy." Her eyes searched for reassurance in his.  
  
"Nothing true is," he said.  
  
Slowly a beautiful, brilliant smile spread across her face. "Where did the philosopher come from?"  
  
"I don't know. Do you like him?"  
  
"I think I'm in love with him, actually." And as she laughed shakily and threw her arms around his neck, Logan held her close and breathed in her scent. He had known it before, but now it was so close, and almost indiscernible from his own.  
  
As they embraced, immersed in joy, he focused on the trees at the edge of the lake. For a moment two big brown eyes gazed back at him, and he heard a sweet, innocent laugh. Beauty and goodness had returned to itself, but left him a bit to hold here in his arms.  
  
He had spent too long ignoring his instincts.  
  



End file.
